the only job you could get without a college degree in the upscale town of Aspen Valley was minimum wage, which barely paid for rent and food, let alone the education it would take to get that degree? It was ridiculous. And because I’d had to declare bankruptcy because of Daniel, there was zero hope of a loan. Hell, I was lucky I even got a job. Apparently being married to a douchebag who’d swindled millions and claiming ignorance about it all didn’t make you seem very credible or smart.
I’d been lucky—if you could call it that—to get the job in the pro shop at the Aspen Valley Country Club I used to be a member at. No. It wasn’t luck.
It was torture to serve the men and women who used to be my friends and let them treat me like a piece of shit on the bottom of their overpriced designer golf shoes all day.
It wasn’t my fault my husband stole their money!
Whatever. It was a paycheck and I’d take it. At least until I could get my degree and get a real job.
If I could find the money for a four-year program. At this point, I’d settle for enough for the first semester. And I was almost there.
I had a bit of money from my grandmother’s inheritance when she passed a few years ago that the banks couldn’t touch when they came collecting. The classes were paid for. The books for those classes were another thing altogether.
Just a few hundred more and I’d be fine.
I tucked my phone away and did the cursory scan around the pro shop to see whether anyone needed any help. No doubt, Janine Lister did. Especially if she was trying to shove those size-ten feet of hers in an eight golf shoe. I rolled my eyes. For as long as I’d known Janine—a long time—she insisted she wasn’t a size ten.
I shook my head when a few minutes later Janine wandered over, the box of shoes in her hand.
It made my stomach roil to think that we used to be friends. As much as you could be friends with a stuck-up, snobby socialite. For the millionth time in the last few months, I was grateful I’d maintained my friendships with my real friends. Women who’d been by your side since you were thirteen—and knew everything about you and loved you despite it—were worth their weight in gold.
“Did you find everything you were looking for, Mrs. Lister?” I had to swallow back my disgust at addressing her so formally. But rules were rules, and I needed my job. “These are a nice choice,” I continued before she could say anything. “And a size eight. I’m so glad we had your size in stock.”
“I’ll wear them at the charity event next week.”
I nodded and smiled, as if I cared. She handed me two hundred-dollar bills to pay for shoes that were one hundred-ten and didn’t even bother looking at the change before she stuffed it in her Gucci wallet.
It would have been so easy to short her. She’d never notice a few dollars missing, and maybe I could at least pay for my—
No, Abby! I chastised myself while putting on a bright smile for her. “I hope they bring you luck.”
Because your game is terrible.
Fortunately, Janine was too dumb, or too oblivious to notice my jab. I held my fake smile until she left and then sagged against the counter.
Fuck. Double fuck.
I could not start stealing. I was not Daniel. I was absolutely not my husband.
Ex-husband, I quickly corrected myself.
No. I had morals. Daniel didn’t even know what they were. But…fuck morals. I needed the cash. Besides, this was different. Daniel took money from the rich and kept it. I would be taking money from the rich and giving it to the poor. Me! That was different. And I was just as much a victim of Daniel’s crimes as everyone else.
Okay. Maybe not.
But still. Was it fair that I was left to piece my life back together when all of Daniel’s victims barely even noticed a few dollars missing from their bulging bank accounts?
No.
But it was too much of a stretch. I was desperate but not that desperate. Yet.
I gave myself a nice little pep talk and did my best to put my money troubles out of my mind. At least for a few minutes. I focused on stocking the shelves and changing out displays until my shift was over and I could go home.